


this lost and lonely part of town

by brookethenerd



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:04:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brookethenerd/pseuds/brookethenerd
Summary: Jeremy finds a broken Jean in his dorm room (aka jean has a nightmare and jeremy pulls him out of it)





	this lost and lonely part of town

Jean Moreau is not used to letting people in. While things may have been different when he was a kid, his memories of that time in which he might have been happy and loved have been shoved out, their place taken by Riko’s sharp words and sharp fists and even sharper knives.The trojans have an open door policy, both when it comes to their dorms and to their hearts. They’d all welcomed Jean into their world before he’d even left his bed, broken and bloody and raw. They’d welcomed him before he decided to live.

They’d welcomed him before he decided he wanted to live.

But no one has pulled him in as close as Jeremy Knox. He hadn’t let them.

Jeremy Knox wormed his way into Jean’s heart; a heart he wasn’t sure still functioned, a heart he didn’t know was capable of caring.

Still, Jean walked a barren road for a long time, a road full of raven feathers and short nights and skin slick with sweat and blood. Sometimes it’s hard to step off of it. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that he’s left it, and the Ravens, behind.

He still has nightmares, and they still bring the so-called unbreakable Jean Moreau to his metaphorical knees. And, until now, he’s fought his battles alone.

Until tonight.

One minute he’s trapped beneath Riko on his bed, caught beneath his fists and the crack of his knuckles against Jean’s face. The next, the door to his room is opening and closing and someone is slipping inside, moving to the edge of the bed, and Jean is being torn from a nightmare.

Jeremy doesn’t touch him; he knows better. He knows that if he were to bridge the gap between them without permission, he’d likely end up with a broken nose. Not because Jean means to, but because he was taught to reply with violence; he was raised by pain.

Jean, part of his mind still trapped in Evermore, launches back into the wall, scrabbling for something to hold onto, something more solid than his sheets.

Jeremy shifts further toward him, and a noise that belongs to a trapped animal slips through Jean’s lips. Jeremy goes still, holding Jean’s gaze.

“It’s me. It’s just me.”

Jeremy swallows bile, trying to catch his breath, heart beating like a kick drum.

“It’s okay. It’s me.” He says.

Jean’s breath heaves, and he sits against the wall, knees drawn to his chest, perched on the edge of his bed, ready to spring if he needs to.

Not that he was ever very good at escape.

When Jean doesn’t shift any further away, Jeremy slides onto the bed, dropping onto the mattress. He reaches out, fingers stopping when Jean flinches, hand hovering inches from Jean’s cheek.

“You’re bleeding.” He says. Jean lifts his own hand, eyes never leaving Jeremy’s, pressing his fingers into his cheeks and pulling them away to look at the red blood coating his skin.

“I’m fine.” Jean says, voice hard.

“Let me clean it out.” Jeremy says.

“ _No_.” Jean says vehemently.

“You don’t have to do this by yourself anymore.” Jeremy says, eyes flicking around Jean’s face.

He’s right, and Jean knows it. He knows that he’s created a family for himself here, a family within Jeremy and Alvarez and Laila and the others.

It’s why he gave Jeremy the spare key to his room. It was a show of trust, a way of telling them that he wanted to be part of what they had.

But old habits are hard to break. Jean spent far too many nights in the bathroom in Evermore, sponging the blood from his skin, cooling the burns with wet paper towels, drinking from the tap because he was too tired to go find water elsewhere.

He’s trying to be different; that’s why, instead of shutting himself down and shutting Jeremy out, he nods.

Jeremy, knowing that’s as much of an ‘okay’ as he’s going to get, stands up and moves for Jean’s bathroom. He comes out with the first aid kit, and flicks the lamp beside the bed on before sitting down next to Jean, who has moved from the corner of the bed to the edge. He turns to face Jeremy, who reaches up, hesitant fingers fluttering over the cuts from Jean’s fingers.

He takes Jean’s hand from his lap, inspecting the blood beneath his nails before setting his hand back down.

“I’m guessing you don’t wanna talk about it.” Jeremy says as he pulls out the gauze and dumps alcohol onto it.

“You would be correct.” Jean replies. Jeremy lifts the gauze to Jean’s cheek, dabbing it at lightly, likely in an attempt to lessen the burning sensation.

But Jean isn’t new to the burn; he practically welcomes it.

When Jeremy drops his hand to dump more alcohol on the gauze, Jean reaches over to his bedside table and pulls a small bottle of tequila out of the top drawer, taking a long swig and setting it down. It’s warm as it goes down, filling the hollowness inside Jean.

“You alright?” Jeremy asks, though the answer to the question is obviously set in the marks on Jean’s cheeks and the paleness of his face.

“Peachy.”

“Liar.” Jeremy says. Jean doesn’t reply, sitting silently as Jeremy finishes cleaning his cheeks. He doesn’t bandage them up, seeing as there isn’t a bandage big enough, and Jean doesn’t ask him to.

Instead of leaving after he puts the first aid kit away, like part of Jean wishes he would, Jeremy sits back down beside Jean and stretches his hand up, thumb grazing the ghost of the number 3, the scar from where Jean tried to burn the number away one night at Abby’s, when he wanted to feel and couldn’t figure out any other way.

Jean knows that he isn’t pretty to look at. He knows that his hands will never settle easily in someone else’s, nor will he ever bear skin without scars. He knows that when people look at him, the first thing they see is the scars and the crooked nose and the tattoo.

Jeremy doesn’t seem to care. He’s never seemed to care, and it makes absolutely no sense to Jean. Jeremy with his toothy grin and his kind eyes and his tan skin and his heart; a heart that never seems to fill.

Jeremy with his open door and his kindness and his patience; all things that Jean doesn’t deserve.

He doesn’t understand why Jeremy is so gentle with him, so careful, as if he’s something to be protected.

At first, it drove him nuts. He figured it was because Jeremy still saw him as the broken man in the bed, the man who still flinches at the sound of a raven’s call.

But eventually he realized it wasn’t that Jeremy thought he was weak; Jeremy knew-Jeremy knows-that he’s strong.

That fierce protectiveness that Jean has developed toward Jeremy, that willingness to jump in the line of fire for him, is the same in Jeremy, it just presents itself differently.

Jeremy doesn’t look at him like he’s broken. He’s never looked at him like he’s anything other than whole.

“Do you want me to go?” Jeremy asks, almost uncertain.

Jean’s brows pull together.

“No.” He says.

Jeremy nods, and waits for Jean to make the next move.

He does, climbing back into the bed, settling on one side, flipping the lamp off.

Jeremy lays beside him, tugging the blankets up, dropping his head on the pillow.

Jean shifts closer, moving his head so that they’re sharing a pillow, warm breath hitting Jeremy’s lips.

“I’m never gonna force you to talk about it; about what happened there. I get it, you’ve got your shit. But if you ever do want to talk about it, I’m here. I’ll listen.” Jeremy whispers, the darkness making the quiet necessary.

Jean doesn’t want to talk about Evermore, not now. He doesn’t think he will for a while. But, eventually, the claws the Raven’s have in his back will fall off.

And when that day comes, he’ll tell Jeremy all about it. He’ll tell him about the Castle, he’ll tell him about Riko, he’ll tell him how he grew up.

But for now, he just closes his eyes.

“You’re not theirs anymore. You’re never gonna be theirs again.” Jeremy says, fierce in his words.

Jean lets out a breath.

“And whose am I?” He asks.

Jeremy pauses, before asking, “Whose do you wanna be?”

Jean opens his eyes, hand sliding up the mattress to settle against Jeremy’s cheek for a moment before letting it fall back to the sheets.

“Yours.” He says. Jeremy smiles, both pleased and surprised with his answer, and closes his eyes.

Jean Moreau has always been property. Property of the Ravens, of Riko, of the Moriyama's, of Castle Evermore. He was a puzzle piece, a pawn, a knight.

He wasn’t allowed to be his own person until he was shoved out the Raven’s door, a bird kicked from the nest, left to die. And it was the worst thing he could possibly imagine. Most of the time, even worse than Riko’s torture.

But now, Jean thinks, maybe belonging to someone isn’t so bad. Especially if that someone is Jeremy Knox.


End file.
